Gemotions

He stared at the departures board, the digital numbers mocking him. Flight 427, to Chicago. Delayed. Again. He gripped his boarding pass, the paper crinkling under the pressure of his hand. His grandfather. His last living grandparent. And he would likely miss the chance to say goodbye.

A vein throbbed in his temple. He needed to get out of this suffocating place, this steel and glass prison. He needed air. He shoved his way through the throng of weary travelers, the scent of stale coffee and desperation thick in the air.

He found an empty bench outside, and sat, his chest heaving. The cool air did little to calm the fire within. He pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over the dial pad. He couldn’t bring himself to call his mother. He couldn't face the sound of her voice, the news he was dreading.